


Breaking Her In

by axework



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: F/M, Humiliation, Imprisonment, Watersports, Wetting, just gross okay it's just fucking gross, vague pet play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 00:51:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10686396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/axework/pseuds/axework
Summary: An extremely self-indulgent one shot with no real setup or plot. I just wanted to write something nasty.





	Breaking Her In

There was just barely three feet of space between the cool metal bars of the confinement she had come too know too well. No place to cushion her head, her neck cramped against her bunched shoulders from where her wrists were tied to the top of the crude cage. The bend in her knees made for no more comfort, equally bound ankles and thighs keeping her from any proper movement.  
  
Barely an inch to struggle with, refused the ability to stretch her muscles or turn her torso.  
  
And then the miserable need to relieve her bladder, a pressure she'd been holding all _day_ after being offered nothing but water the morning of. Purposefully of course, of fucking course.  
  
Claire had been in a number of tight places, but being prisoner to former Umbrella employee and S.T.A.R.S traitor took the cake.   
  
This abuse had been going on for two weeks now, and where she usually found a place to wriggle free or happen upon a lucky break...her chances of escape were looking bleak. Around every corner her resilient nature and need to fight back were met with punishment.   
  
And humiliation stung the most against her pride.  
  
All her efforts were exhausted in fighting against the thick rope that anchored her aching limbs, nothing but strain pulled at her. Fed up, frustrated, so sick of fighting, Claire just groaned in misery as she yielded to the chance of feeling relief for just a moment.  
  
It was a specific choice to leave her in just her underwear, she was realizing now as she arched her back and her bladder relinquished the tight swell of liquid it had been holding for too long. Claire's thighs shook as heat spread between them, the cloth absorbing the mess to its limits while the rest spilled into the plastic bottom of the crate and pooled in an amber puddle beneath her.  
  
Tears pricked her eyes as her body shuddered from it, unable to stop once she started. The smell hit her, making her cringe and twist her face away in shame, but she got that wave of alleviation that she was so desperately seeking and for a moment it washed away the pain in her extremities and the heavy pressure against her abdomen.  
  
Claire sighed a breath, it was so heavy that she felt she had surely been holding it since Wesker left the room hours ago.  
  
And then came having to let herself sit back down in her own mess and ruminate the strong ammonia stench that carried far too well in the small confines of her crate.   
  
Teeth bit at her lip when she caught herself referring to it as such.  
  
As if the neck accessory wasn't enough indication of what Wesker wanted to have her perceive this as.  
  
It wasn't until night fall when the man returned, looking just as he did when he left. Not a hair out of place, boots without scuff, and not a hint of lint on his dark clothing.  
  
"What a _mess_."  
  
His words cut the air, and Claire shivered.  
  
She hated to be seen like this, to have him consistently beating her. All she had was her refusal to _give_.  
  
Claire turned her head, fingers clenching about the bars. She couldn't bare to even look at him. It was out of hate, she said, but she was so ashamed.  
  
"I can smell it from the doorway. I must not be hydrating you well enough."  
  
She could feel him approaching her, flinching at his presence and baring her teeth. "What did you think was going to happen?" She snapped.  
  
"I expected you to be able to control your own bladder."  
  
Claire's face flushed in shame. It was never enough.  
  
"Just let me wash off at least." She said, eyes fixed to the flooring beyond the small space of the grating.  
  
"You've done nothing to reward that dignity."  
  
A fierce gaze finally fell upon Wesker standing just before her cage and when she made eye contact she watched him blanch at the smell, a gloved hand going to brush under his nose and it was enough to make her look away again.  
  
Her brows knit in want to fight the question, it's what he wanted to hear. It came out nonetheless.  
  
"What can I do?"  
  
There was no need to look over to know that he was smirking, that vile subtle twitch that you could miss if you didn't catch it just in time.   
  
The door to the crate opened and a blade came to free her bound ankles from the thick twine of rope that tied her to the top of the cage. Immediately her legs came down, shielding the dampness of her backside before she stretched it out in urgency to quell the tension in her muscles.  
  
Her wrists and thighs were given the same treatment, and Claire must have been making a face because there came that smug inquiry of "Good?" that came from his marbled tongue.  
  
Before she could fully enjoy having full range of her limbs, her collar was snagged by a powerful set of fingers and she was pulled out of the cage in the manner akin to someone grabbing a stubborn dog.  
  
Forced to her knees, Claire found grounding with her palms against the floor. Just having space to breath in felt good, out of the filth of her prison and getting wafts of cologne and that sort of sterile chemical smell of of Wesker that she despised to find welcoming in the wake of what she had to endure for the past couple hours.  
  
"Take off your underwear."  
  
Claire leered up, lips pursed and brow furrowed as she focused on that blank-slate of a face looming above her. She scoffed and huffed, and while she was going to make sure he knew she didn't like taking orders, she did it anyhow. Red lines were prominent on her wrists, fingers hooking about the hem of her snug panties that just wreaked of piss. The damp fabric clung to her skin as she peeled down her thighs and adjusted on the floor to get them off her legs where there were remnant streaks of where it had all trailed down.  
  
"How far we've come." Wesker teased, placing a hand against the back of her head.   
  
Of course he was referring to those first days when demands like this were met with harsh 'fuck you's' and lashing kicks.  
  
Claire jerked from his touch, making his fingers curl inward as that mean smile returned.  
  
"and still a ways to go, I see."  
  
"No kidding." She huffed.  
  
"You want the privilege of your own hygiene, Claire? I'll offer it. In exchange all you have to do is sit pretty."  
  
Claire's glare turned suspicious.  
  
"Back on your knees, sitting on your calves." Wesker instructed, 'helping' her along with a few tugs to her collar. With frustrated look, Claire adjusted to his liking. Thick thighs pressed together, a leather-clad hand guiding how straight she needed to sit up by pressing to her back. Manipulating her arms, he placed them in a position where they were bent, elbows pointing down and her palms facing up, like she was going to need to catch something.  
  
Already Claire's breath was escalating at where this was going.  
  
"Considering your state, this should be easy for you. You're already so filthy..."   
  
Her jaw clenched as she watched her captor then unbuckle his belt, pushing a hand into his sleek undergarments to pull forth his flaccid dick.  
  
Claire guffawed and hissed, eyes flitting back and forth around the room as her shoulders more rapidly rose and fell in a growing anxiousness.  
  
"Ah, don't move."  
  
Her eyes squeezed shut as she braced, lips tightening so not to get any in her mouth. So badly she wanted to take the opportunity to maul him, land a blow where it was going to _really_ hurt. But the ache in her body and the still-healing wounds on her back begged her to just play nice for once.  
  
Fingers shook as she kept them held up.  
  
The pause was torture, this prolonged silence that made the air heavy. Her breaths were getting harder and she felt certain Wesker was waiting for her to gasp before he finally let it happen. When that first hot splash of urine hit her cheek, she betrayed a squeak of horror.   
  
It cascaded down her face, soaking her neck and dripping down over her collar. Then the chemical smell of it, like something you'd get a whiff of in the just prepped operation room.   
  
Claire was trying desperately not to gag, and in response to her desperate grip on composure Wesker changed the trajectory so it splayed all over her nose and against her taut lips. It was enough to make her sputter and cough, eyes watering and her face going bright pink from the shame. The miserable shame.  
  
These sad hiccup noises came from her, still so determined to stay strong-willed even as the salty, bitter taste hit her. It dripped down her front, mostly translucent as it seeped all the way down her belly where it gathered in the tussle of her pubic hair.  
  
Wesker finished with an unceremoniously shake, droplets hitting her forehead and hairline before he began zipping himself back up.  
  
"What a good girl." He said, his voice dripping with poison.  
  
Claire took that as being relinquished from having to hold this pose and immediately began to wipe at her face with her bare arms. She coughed and spat, making this gagging noises as tears flooded her eyes. She had not eaten anything since yesterday, but saliva had been building in her mouth and there came that undeniable pressure in the back of her throat.  
  
When she began dry heaving, Wesker reached down to pull her up off the floor, careful not to get anything on his gloves.  
  
"Come now, you've done plenty already."  
  
Escorting her across the carpet of the small room which had been sectioned off from the rest of this unknown building as Claire's "play room". To the side there was a door which opened into a bathroom which held a moderately sized tub.  
  
Claire was left to her own advances for a moment, where she was in so much duress trying to wipe off all of Wesker's piss from her person. When Wesker returned to collect the young Redfield, she did not calm down until she realized the bath was running.  
  
She followed him with much more ease, eagerly going to step into the frothy water. The welcoming smell of lavender and chamomile hit her, and Claire sunk into the still-rising mixture of salt remedy, soap, and warm liquid with relief. A familiar comfort, the all encompassing embrace of a friend that was waiting for her after every zombie skirmish and rough mission against bioterrorism. It washed away her aches and cleaned away the ammonia.  
  
Wesker made sure the humiliation was not to go anywhere, however.  
  
Perched at the edge of the porcelain, hands, now lacking gloves, came forward to pull down Claire's ponytail and wet her hair. It made her shudder, her line of vision focusing on the running water as the gesture reminded her far too much of being a child who never wanted to bathe after romping around in the mud and having to have assistance from her brother to force her into the tub and wash the dirt from her hair.  
  
But she was too exhausted to fight against him. Little by little, the need to retaliate had been waning.  
  
As soap was applied to her auburn locks, she could only sigh and lean forward, forehead pressed to his knee, so he could better reach the back of her scalp.


End file.
